On July 5, 1852, Frederick Douglass delivered one of the
greatest speeches in American history. Titled “What to the Slave is the Fourthof July,” Douglass slammed the hypocrisy of self-congratulatory freedom
nostrums in a nation in which more than 4 million were held on bondage. About
halfway through, Douglass hammered home his point with a poignant zinger:
What, to the American slave, is your 4th of
July? I answer: a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the
year, the gross injustice and cruelly to which he is the constant victim. To
him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; your
national greatness, swelling vanity; your sounds of rejoicing are empty and
heartless; your denunciations of tyrants, brass fronted impudence; your shouts
of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers and hymns, your sermons
and thanksgivings, with all your religious parade, and solemnity, are, to him,
mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy—a thin veil to cover up
crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages. There is not a nation on the
earth guilty of practices, more shocking and bloody, than are the people of
these United States, at this very hour.
We have, of course, ended the scourge of slavery addressed
by Douglass, but have we really addressed its substance? Slavery, as Douglass,
W.E.B Du Bois, Dr. King, Malcolm X, and a host of others reminded us, was but
the institutional form of racism, and racism an ideology of self-interest we
construct to take one class of individuals and deny them an equal place at the
American table.
July Fourth often makes me feel a bit melancholy–especially
lately. It reminds me of the old Tom Lehrer satirical song “National
Brotherhood Week,” a lampoon of the idea that for one week of the year we’re
supposed to pretend we like each other. July the Fourth is like that. We gather
beneath the Stars and Stripes, pump our fists to a rousing John Philip Sousa
march, ohh and ahh over fireworks, and worship the Founding demigods:
Washington, Franklin, Jefferson, Adams, Paine, Madison–all men, by the way, of
the Enlightenment who had profound doubts about the whole deity thing.
But never mind that. What unsettles me is the presumption
that a few hollow civic rituals serve to mend all the fractures in American
society. We can set aside our differences and revel in our common national
oneness. Sometimes it feels as if we should figure out a way musically to segue
from “The Star Spangled Banner” to “Kumbaya” and give each other a collective
national hug.
That would be nice, if July 5 didn’t arrive to set us back
upon our path of dividing brother from brother, sister from sister, black from
white, wealthy from poor, straight from gay, immigrant from nativist, men from
women, the faithful from the free thinkers, and those with power from the
powerless. It would be very nice indeed if “USA, USA” meant something more
palpable than a chauvinistic chant at an international sports match, or a
drooling affirmation of military adventurism abroad.
When I read Douglass’ speech, it saddens me to think upon
the timeless words in his speech, especially the references to hollow rituals
and hypocrisy. I see the hate-filled faces outside the abortion clinics of
Boston, on the border with Mexico, at Tea Party rallies, among the sexist
leaders of the military, at Westboro Baptist protests, in suburban malls, and
in the halls of Congress. My Kumbaya moment passes and I feel alienated, not a
member a United States. I think upon
a Scottish acquaintance who once told me that he and I had more in common than
I had with most of the Americans he met outside of New England. I, like
Douglas, find myself musing upon Scripture: As
ye do unto the least of these, so you do unto me. And, frankly, all the
freedom talk makes me think about how much of it is just as elusive now as it
was 162 years ago. As the songwriter Eric Bogle put it:
Chains,
chains, chains–how many souls have died in freedom’s name?
To
some it is a way of life, to others just a word,
To
some it is a snow-white bird, to others a bloody sword.
But
until the last chain falls,
Freedom
will make slaves of us all.
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